


Spring to Hades

by wrabbit



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: And More Teasing, Blushing, Discussion of Flogging, Episode: s01e07 Horrible from Supper, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: Captain Crozier and his steward have some unfinished business about a flogging.(AKA the one where Jopson thinks that Crozier doesn't want to fuck anymore since he whipped a man for gay stuff and got sober.)
Relationships: Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Spring to Hades

Two years, 324 bottles of whisky, a fair eternity of long dark nights, and now they were abruptly out of time.

The knowledge that he should have walked them out of there - insisted upon it, before some 20 men died - weighed like an unholy iceberg in Francis' gut.

They had one chance to get out. 

One chance. 

He could not allow his regrets - however mighty - to force his men to take a single step out onto that ice before their preparations were complete. Before they were ready.

Whatever ready entailed. He starting to doubt that such a thing was possible.

But he was weighing it again, feeling its depth and breadth when he glanced up to find his steward waiting nearby. 

"Hm? Ah - " Francis took the requested log book.

He considered Jopson. They had barely spoken since Francis was most recently struck down, since the fire. Since the determination to walk.

A man did not require conversation from his steward, but he did prefer it. He did respect Thomas' insight. 

And there were the other things as well.

A change in the way Thomas moved about the room, made his presence known or not known, helped Francis with his coat.

He did expect - from the beginning - that the man might become irrevocably disgusted with him, after everything Francis put him through.

That was fine - Francis was disgusted with himself.

Probably for the better.

Nevertheless he was determined for them to be clear-minded and resolute about this, the matter of their survival going forward. He needed his allies. He needed Thomas with him - needed his mind, and his courage, and his confidence once again. 

Everything on the table - counted, packed and ready to haul, or discarded with the rest of their regrets. 

"Well, what is it?" He asked when it appeared that Jopson was prepared to clean up and disappear again without a word. 

Thomas wavered, surprised to be addressed.

"You've been awfully quiet about this," Francis commented, tapping the log, the work ahead. "I'd know what troubles you."

Thomas shook his head. His hair fell. "Nothing, sir. Honestly."

"Thomas." Francis took a steadying breath. He rubbed his face and eyes.

"I owe you my life," he said, feeling the gravity of it. "And could benefit from your judgment. Please, speak freely. Spare me nothing."

Thomas opened his mouth, and said nothing.

"Hmm?" Francis prompted. "Go on, then."

Nary a blink - and Jopson turned to go. "Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Francis leaned over his desk, and tried to steer his attention back to the logs spread out in front of him. He wished that he had thought to ask even for a fresh pot of tea to warm his hands before dismissing Jopson.

But Thomas slowed, and stopped in the middle of the room.

Francis glanced up curiously.

"I was surprised that you had Mr. Hickey flogged for dirtiness, is all," he said quietly, with a dignified nod aside. "It’s been on my mind, since you threw off the bottle."

Ah.

Francis turned in his chair. This he could deal with.

How to explain. That he had a pied piper on his hands, and had to find some manner and method to discredit him. There was Lieutenant Irving and the other officers to consider, their expectations to uphold. Francis could not afford to appear lenient in their eyes, not where mutiny was concerned.

And how Mr. Hickey had fairly well offered himself up as a sacrificial goat by the publicity of his affairs, before forcing Francis into a position to take him up on it. He didn’t regret a thing.

How much of that was Mr. Jopson given to understand, however? Francis didn't want to disturb him. Perhaps it was too late for that.

"You do understand the danger that we are in? The lack of faith that Mr. Hickey has fomented, do you?"

"I - You needn't justify your command to me, sir." 

Francis sighed. He considered the planks, for a moment, and then mused, "Am I a reformed man, Thomas? Cleansed? Do you suppose I used Mr. Hickey as a whipping boy, to purge my own sins?"

Thomas bit his inner lip.

"Took me for grog and snog sort of drunk, did you?" Francis added, more of a private aside than a question for Thomas to answer. He smiled bitterly. "That's alright."

"I didn’t expect that nothing would change, sir, don’t get me wrong," Thomas was saying, quickly as Francis turned away. "I didn't mean to give offence."

"You haven’t offended me."

No, Francis had tasted and swallowed tonics more bitter than the ones that Thomas had to offer him, and more of them. He pushed himself to his feet, supposing that they were finished and that Jopson would quickly retire.

Wishing he had one more bottle, one more month, one more night. One more moment alone. Always one more.

Well... Francis looked to the charts and rubbed his hair, stiff on his head. Time to move on.

"It's just, what if we had... ?"

Francis spared a glance for his steward, still lingering for some reason. He hummed an impatient question.

"What if I were... ?" 

Francis braced himself briefly against the desk before he turned.

"What if you were to what?"

"I know Lieutenant Irving, sir. He wouldn’t hesitate if he were to see something... out of bounds... again.”

Thomas' voice lowered to a whisper when Francis stepped forward. He backed up a step. Then another, as if blown back by Francis' breath until his legs touched hardwood.

Francis stopped just shy of touching, drawn to Thomas’ nervous grip on the edge of the table.

"Do you think so?" He asked conversationally.

He didn't think that Thomas had other assignations on board, but he wouldn't put it past him to seek them. He was beautiful enough to be sought out.

Begrudging him nothing, he added - gently, "I suppose you’d better be careful, then."

Thomas shuddered and his shoulders bowed, caving.

Francis smiled, indulging for a moment in the withered thing that shivered in his chest. He squeezed Thomas' shoulder, and Thomas' huff of relief landed somewhere between a nervous laugh and a cough.

Francis let his thumb stray over Thomas scarf and collar to press against his skin. It was the only warm thing that he could remember touching all day.

He leaned down to catch Thomas' lowered gaze, teasing another smile out of him.

"But if I were caught," Thomas persisted, glancing up.

He blinked and hummed, pretending to consider it, more interested in Thomas still standing so close, eyes darting over Francis’ face and chest.

"Consorting down with the rats? But who with?"

He took Thomas' chin, fairly bursting with fondness when he blushed and twitched out of his hold, turning his lantern smile on Francis' shoulder.

For such a capable man, as adroit with a weapon as he was with needle and thread, and possessing a mettle that impressed even the officers - he was remarkably easy to fluster.

"I missed this," Francis confessed, thumbing a red cheek.

“Captain, I - " Thomas cringed into his palm, grinning, and stuttered, and Francis' heart swelled. 

He crowded Thomas further back against the table with his hands on his hips.

"Well," he asked, "What would they say if one of my officers caught you like this, hm? What do they think I do with you in here, anyway?"

Thomas bit his lip, eyes locked on the chair to Francis' left, apparently so overcome with embarrassment that he couldn't reply.

"They’d ravage you every chance they got if they knew that they could, all these cock high sailors and you just a bedroom maid. I'd have to flog this entire crew."

"But not me?"

"Especially you."

"Where?" Thomas gasped.

"On this table. Where everyone could see. And then I'd watch them have you over it."

Thomas tugged at Francis' woolen scarf, mustering himself.

"You’d have to be dressed in uniform again," he noted, slyly.

Francis tipped his head back and laughed like he hadn’t in a very long time.

"Would I?" He replied, unbuttoning Thomas' overcoat.

"I suppose you’d want to shine my boots and lace me into them, too. Do you think that appropriate? We can’t have a known sodomite as a steward. Alone with his captain, at all hours of the night. Anything could happen."

He worked his hands under Thomas' layers and into his shirt, chuckling at the way he squirmed and muffled a yelp into Francis' scarf.

"Cold!"

Francis couldn’t have had mercy if he wanted to - Thomas' arms were locked around his back and he was still hiding his face in Francis' coat

He warmed his hands on Thomas' skin, seeking out the furnace under his arms, and relished the way Thomas' knee jerked up and he was laughing suddenly, ticklish.

Francis pulled a hand free to tug fingers loose from his collar - the man was near to strangling him.

He pressed his thigh into Thomas' crotch, pinning him more firmly against the table. 

"What’s this?" he asked, nudging what he found there.

"You - !"

"Me?" Francis broke in when Thomas cut off on a gasp. "I was just warming my hands."

"You devil," Thomas managed. 

"Yes," Francis agreed. He made short work of Thomas' trousers, reaching down to where he was very warm indeed. "And you, my dear, are irresistible."

He squeezed, pushing forward when Thomas heaved in a breath and leaned back against the table. It creaked and shifted under his weight.

Francis adored to watch him like this, to have him like this. Whimpering like a trapped rabbit and trying to hide it behind his own arm. Leaking and twitching in Francis’ grip.

He liked Thomas when he smiled and flushed and confessed his secrets at Francis' bedside, where he had no duty to linger. He liked his face against Francis' shoulder. He liked him a long way from the stern, taciturn figure that Jopson presented in the wardroom.

"Tell me more about how I'll punish you," Francis prompted when Thomas started to settle, hands restless over Francis' coat. 

Thomas' ragged breaths - the soft sounds of Francis' hand working his cock - a small, warm wave that swirled in the space between them.

"Say I was using you wrong - taking advantage of - of my position." 

"Would you take it like a man, like Hartnell and Manson? Or would you protest and make me lash you down like a boy?"

"I - " Thomas seemed to be struck dumb and wide-eyed.

Francis twisted his wrist around Thomas' cock, impossibly hot and slick in his fist.

"I don’t think we could use the cat on you, not on such a delicate maid. It would ribbon you. A strap, perhaps."

Thomas' throat was working and he whined out soft animal pleas, falling open mouthed against Francis' jaw as he approached completion.

Pressing his cheek and nose to Thomas' hair, Francis breathed him in, basking in it. And here he'd thought he'd never get to have this again. 

His ears pricked at another sound from above and without, someone passing down the hall. A clatter of boots on the deck.

He covered Thomas' mouth firmly with one hand, the other still working away at his prick.

"Sh sh shhhhhh," he murmured in Thomas' ear, "You'll have Irving onto us, yet."

He leaned back to watch Thomas come with his pale eyes blown wide and black, his thigh flexing against Francis' hip and his fingers clutching at Francis' coat.

Releasing him, Francis chased Thomas’ gasp for air with his mouth. Thomas kissed back fiercely, pulling him in by the back of his head and reaching for his fly.

Francis caught his hand, and tore his lips away.

"No," he said, and fell forward to taste Thomas one more time.

And once more.

His attention was drawn up again. There really was quite a lot of activity on deck. "Not tonight."

Thomas closed his eyes. He tipped his head back in silent frustration, and sighed. Francis smiled as he disentangled himself.

"Oh, Thomas?" he called, pulling on his shed hat and gloves and preparing to head up.

"Sir?"

"Come here. Turn around."

The look that Thomas gave was profoundly suspicious but he consented to stand by and turn away from Francis, dignified neck and eyes giving way last of all.

Francis lifted Thomas coattails and slapped him firmly across his backside.

There. Never say he neglected to discipline his men.

"Now fetch the magnifying glass from my cabinet, won't you? Mr. Goodsir has need of it."

Thomas turned slowly, blushing again, and swallowed it with a smirk. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> 'Snog' is modern slang, but I thought "grog and snog" was a hilarious phrase.


End file.
